"David Garnett - Still Life" - читать интересную книгу автора (Garnett David)

painting's resale value.
"Half a million quid for that old ham?" said a voice from behind
Corinne. "I wouldn't give a fiver for it!"
She spun around and found herself face to face with the prime minister.
"By that reckoning," the man continued, his eyes sparkling, "my picture
ought to be worth a thousand million!" He looked from the picture and
toward the artist.
"Hello, Corinne," he said, offering his hand.
"Hello, Graham." said Corinne as they shook hands. "Sir Graham, I
mean. I didn't know you were here."
"Call me Graham, since we're old friends," he said with a wink, still
holding her hand. "No, I sneaked in without paying when everyone else
was leaving." He glanced around the gallery. "It's certainly an impressive
show, Corinne. You must be very proud."
"Yes," she said, managing to free her hand from his grip. "I must be."
The prime minister had been one of her first major commissions, a
dozen years ago. In those days he'd been plain Graham Anderson, deputy
leader of the Opposition. He'd been very charming and witty, and the
sitting had taken three days, throughout which he tried to persuade
Corinne to go out with him. The final day, they'd gone to a small
Malaysian restaurant, and afterward he'd seduced her. He phoned several
times over the following weeks, but she never returned the calls. They
hadn't met again until now.
The man raised his eyebrows. "What is it? You've reached the top and
you think: Now what? I know the feeling."
Corinne shook her head. "No, it isn't that." She shrugged. "I don't know
what it is." Then she smiled, quickly glancing around to see where Robert
was, hoping he'd come and rescue her. There was no sign of him, and
slowly she began walking toward the next gallery. Sir Graham stayed with
her.
"It's been too long since I've seen you, Corinne," he said, and she could
almost believe him; but the man was a politician, and so he always
sounded convincing.
Corinne saw Sir Graham's portrait, and she led him in that direction.
"What a handsome chap," said the prime minister, staring up as they
stopped by the four-foot-square canvas. "Who is he?" He peered at the
name engraved on the brass plate at the bottom of the frame. "Why ... it's
me!" he said in mock surprise.
Corinne couldn't help but smile at his antics.
"You must come around to No. 10 for a meal next week," he said.
"I seem to have heard that line before."
Sir Graham studied her doubtful expression. "No, Corinne, I mean it.
Come and meet my wife; she'll be delighted to see you. Got your pictures
of the bloody royal family pinned up everywhere, she has." He shook his
head despairingly. "What do you say? I'd like to talk to you."
"Talk, just talk?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Pity!"
They both laughed.
Sir Graham turned his back on the portrait, standing in front of it,